


Sound-proofing

by antennapedia



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Hotels, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antennapedia/pseuds/antennapedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm argues with Clara about exactly how sound-proof this hotel is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound-proofing

Malcolm pulled his tie out from his collar. "I'm telling you no."

Clara kicked off her heels. "And I'm telling you yes. Hotels like this have good sound-proofing."

Tie off, dropped onto the floor. Belt undone, trousers stepped out of.

"They fucking do not. Last time I was in this godforsaken city, I heard some cunt getting his arse slapped by his girlfriend, who went on to fuck him. With a bargepole, I may point out, to judge by all the noise he made as it went in."

"Here? This hotel? This swank waste of the Party's money?"

Malcolm struggled with his buttons. Clara had just shimmied out of her dress and he could see that she'd worn red knickers and matching garters, and his hands were now trembling. "Not this hotel. Couldn't afford it. Tom hadn't won yet. Leave the stockings on, would you?"

"This hotel has good sound-proofing. You can't argue."

He didn't really want to argue, that was the problem. He was as stiff as a sailor on leave after six months at sea. It had been days since they'd last been able to steal a night together, and he'd had to watch her get macked on by dozens of regional party twats all night, all balding sweating men holding glasses of cheap blended whiskey and ice, leering at his woman's tits. They were his to leer at, and like a gentleman he knew to leer at them in private, with her permission. She'd stepped on the foot of a cunt who'd tried to touch her, dug her heel right in on him. Completely by accident. He'd watched the whole thing, from his vantage point at the back of the room, glass of orange juice in hand.

Fucking cunting Party events. Wall to wall knitted twats.

"And where did you go off to just now? You were glaring off into space, glassy-eyed."

Malcolm shook himself. Clara was stood in front of him, wearing her knickers and the garters and nothing else that he could see. He leered, as was his duty, and cupped his hand over her, tweaked an already-stiff nipple.

"Why the fuck do you care about the sound-proofing anyway? We're not noisy when we fuck."

Clara ran her finger up the underside of his cock. Malcolm choked back a whimper.

"To the contrary. _You_ are noisy when you getting blown. And tonight I'm going to make you scream."

Malcolm sneered with what remained of his self-control. "Can't be done."

"Oh?" said Clara. And now he grinned, because he could see from her face that the game was afoot.


End file.
